Once upon a time there was a little girl who went to the market. She was looking for some fruit but only found meat and bread, It was winter and fruit was hard to find in the middle of cold season. She continued down the road and found a family who had a small amount of grapes.
Mandy
A place where you go to buy things. A spice market full of the colors and smells. A rainbow for your nose, a bouquet for your eyes. A place full of people. Crowded, busy, noisy, except first thing in the morning when everyone is setting up and getting ready for the day. There is space to move, space to see. It’s perfect, a glimpse at the structure behind the madness to come. Fresh, complete, unsoiled. Happy, this is where I was happy.
Amy
A place where you go to buy things. A spice market full of the colors and smells. A rainbow for your nose, a bouquet for your eyes. A place full of people. Crowded, busy, noisy, except first thing in tehmoorning when everyone is setting up and getting ready for the day. There is space to move, space to see. It s perfect, a glimpse at the structure behind the madness to come.
Amy
I’m pretty sure that I’ve already written about the market once before.
A market has the smell of fresh fruit, veggies, and fish. The sort of fish caught and separated from it’s home to be consumed as a meal for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.
The supermarket stood before like a vast wasteland of undecided hope. The slightly rotted fruits called her name, the giant carrot cakes smelled of love, and the playing children put a smile on her face. Associating the bustling scene with her mother, she raised her chin and grabbed a basket, ready to shop.
Walking to the market was always a melancholy experience. It reminded me of the trips I had taken with my grandmother when I was younger. The bright stalls, the buzzing flies, the fresh fruits. I always had such a bright image of it in my head.
She went to the market. A basket hooked over her arm and a scarf draped over her shoulders. The people stood idly by while her legs lunged forward in a determined march. A side step around the small child crouching over a frog and a sharp right turn after the tomato merchant. She looked up and there he was. Graceful as ever leaning into an arrangement of fresh blooms.
Celine Glon
I miss the farmer’s market. Sure, there is handicapped parking, and sure, I have the wheelchair. But it is not level, making the chair hard to push. And, it is out in the heat, which will take its toll on me. But I miss it, nonetheless. I miss bumping into friends, and chatting with strangers and acquaintances, and I miss finding costly and exciting treasures.
Renee
hmm market..i haven’t been to market in so long..in fact i was thinking of going today to buy pots and to spend some money. it’s been quite a while. it’s quite refreshing actually. retail therapy is the best.
qweas
markets sell anything usually or everything. markets are everywhere no matter where you are there is a type of market or trading post.
Caden
As the boy was wondering what he should get at the market he fell into a ditch on the side of the road when he wasn’t paying attention.
Caden
The market business was starting to go down. It started to go down hill after they stopped selling the vanilla ice cream.
Caden
only when I buy tomatoes
fresh fruits and vegetables
I am a real adult
but kids like vegetables and fruits too
Diamant
I had to go to the market one day. I need to pick up sausage and peppers to make a yummy fmaily dinner. Sausage and peppers are a great filling meal and feeds many people. Serve it with bread and a salad and you’ve got a complete meal.
sabrina
I saw a bob next to a pineapple who was eating carrots who likes Andrea and Linda who hates bob and pineapple. I like cantaloupe and apples, and i love veggies.
Elise Horstman
“Our go-to-market strategy,” he rumbled. He stared the fresh-faced new recruit in the face, expecting a response. The recruit couldn’t begin to understand what the rumbling iron-sided executive wanted from him, so he sat stunned, attentive, but perplexed.
ml
I went to the market yesterday and I saw a creepy dude named matthew christentien and he was like hey linda what’s up I was like who are who are you creepy dude oh it’s you the creepy dude. Next day I saw him againb and this time he introduced me to his grandma and hiuis
Linda
“Do you want to go to the market with me?” she asked. I said no. There, she met the man of her dreams, a farmer who could provide her with endless fresh peaches. To this day, the smell of any kind of produce makes me kind of nauseous.
You took pieces of my soul to the black market, children are highly sought after here. You left me blank and scattered, clearly no one cares. I thought I could just off myself at 10 years old, a fitting end to a tragic beginning, but Mama told me ‘hold on, darling’ as she fell to pieces too.
She dodged and dipped her way around the street, avoiding baskets and bags as she searched for the little fruit stand she knew so well. The sweat and heat were almost unbearable, but the excitement was the most palpable thing she could feel.
The chaos in the market was overwhelming. The calls of the merchants, the loud bargainings of the local ladies all added to its ‘loudness’. In here, it felt easy to escape, to go unnoticed.
There was safety in the crowd.
avani
My mom and I always go to the market. We always shop for vegetables, fruit, meat and snacks. If I had to choose my favorite food. It would be endless. My mom and I always go to the shops. We love shopping.
Tallissa
I went to the market yesterday. There was a strange man there who kept looking at me like I knew him. I stared, and I stared. But I couldn’t recognise him. Eventually, overwhelmed by curiosity, I went up to ask him where I knew him from.
He smiled at me when I asked.
“Don’t you recognise your own Father?”
I woke up.
Andrew
self sold made in china
the crooked hands curved around mine; a
falacious fallacy, our economy
we demand a philosophy of markets free
then get angry when what wages be
a contradiction definition of incendiary
the political lack of empathy
matt m.
This word reminds me when L and I went to West Side Market, the day I told her that I wanted to break up with her, which was also the biggest mistake I made in our relationship. We went to the zoo afterwards and that was great.
Saturday at the market place is a perfect way to start the day. Buy some fresh veggies, have a glass of fresh squeezed juice. And don’t forget to wear your prettiest hat!
Sister Golden Hair
Come Tuesday, local farmers would gather together to create a small market. My early memories of my hometown, was going to market to buy groceries with mom. Come Today, Market is the financial market and android marketplace.
Today at the Markey i saw a woman. It was te kind of woman that makes you wonder. Where am i? What am i doing? Why is she not in my life? I wonder…
Yasser Andres
Wicker baskets stacked neatly on one another
Her hands were weaving the threads in and out
making them higher and taller
this was her pride
her work
sometimes its beauty of life with the things we create by hand
lovely and strong the muscles weaved the grass
grey and white shimmering strands of hair mixed in with the black tide of curls
elzabeth
The crowd was massive and the sounds were loud. children, animals, sellers calling out their deals. This is what Tess Mongomery loved, fresh meat, baked breads an sweets. this was her home
Jessica
in the market i sat down in the aisle, defeated, i looked left, i looked right, and i looked up and down. no matter where i looked i couldn’t find it. desperation, isolation and depression set in. Where were those danmed chocolate bunnies? the same from when i was a small child?
Andres
The market teemed with life. Outside, women had lined up their vegetables and other items for sale, on tarps, the vendor sitting behind her wares calling out to people as they passed. These people came from the mountains and their vegetables came from the forest. The more established vendors, who grew their produce in their own gardens or bought the vegetables from their neighbors, had wooden tables set up inside the cavernous building. Birds flew around in the rafters over the heads of people buying their food for the day.
The work market reminds of the difference in its usage in Canada versus in Pakistan. The word isnt used much here as compared to it is in Pakistan. I think it has something to do with the influence of British English in Pakistan and less so here.
Ayesha
I went to the market for zucchini and strawberries, but I wound up with a porcupine instead.
“How in God’s name did you bring home a porcupine?” demanded my wife, as the spiny creature scurried to the corner and hid behind the cardboard box where we kept glass to recycle.
“I’m not quite sure myself,” I replied. “Come to think of it, it didn’t seem like the same market I got to every week. It was on the same street and everything, though.”
Belinda Roddie
The market was closed from the inside, they were trapped with them in there; we didn’t know what to do since we can’t outrun them… We took everything that might serve as weapon and just hope for the best
She walked alone to the store, warm phone in hand. It was quiet uptown, so she was able to listen to her music uninterrupted. She never liked the quiet, putting in her earbuds and playing a song or humming whenever there was no noise. Flowers were drooping through the cracks in the mossy sidewalk, too much rain to keep them happy. She looked around, not seeing the market. Walking faster to the beat of her music, she hurried along the trail. She would have to get there sooner if they were going to have dinner.
It smelled of home – it smelled of fish, of food, of support.
Her fingers longed to touch various items as she walked by, but instead, she remained a shadow in the shade of the canopies above.
Erika
I went to the saturday market with my girlfriend this last weekend. I had been encouraging a friend to play music there. Right when I was going to call him. He was there! He did it! He overcame his fear!
Josh
It was around the corner, not far from the house where we lived. Nowadays, no parent would let a child of the age I was go there alone. But in those days, the freedom of childhood stretched farther than two feet or one block or to play dates and carefully selected, pre-screen friendships. We made friends who got us into trouble or who didn’t; the former were quickly dispatched by parents; the latter became the people we got into trouble anyway, but who knew? So far away, around the corner, sitting there in a small space was a market, Freddie’s market, where I went every day to get groceries for the family. I was too small to carry most of the groceries, but there was no one else but me to do it. So I did.
Once upon a time there was a little girl who went to the market. She was looking for some fruit but only found meat and bread, It was winter and fruit was hard to find in the middle of cold season. She continued down the road and found a family who had a small amount of grapes.
A place where you go to buy things. A spice market full of the colors and smells. A rainbow for your nose, a bouquet for your eyes. A place full of people. Crowded, busy, noisy, except first thing in the morning when everyone is setting up and getting ready for the day. There is space to move, space to see. It’s perfect, a glimpse at the structure behind the madness to come. Fresh, complete, unsoiled. Happy, this is where I was happy.
A place where you go to buy things. A spice market full of the colors and smells. A rainbow for your nose, a bouquet for your eyes. A place full of people. Crowded, busy, noisy, except first thing in tehmoorning when everyone is setting up and getting ready for the day. There is space to move, space to see. It s perfect, a glimpse at the structure behind the madness to come.
I’m pretty sure that I’ve already written about the market once before.
A market has the smell of fresh fruit, veggies, and fish. The sort of fish caught and separated from it’s home to be consumed as a meal for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.
The supermarket stood before like a vast wasteland of undecided hope. The slightly rotted fruits called her name, the giant carrot cakes smelled of love, and the playing children put a smile on her face. Associating the bustling scene with her mother, she raised her chin and grabbed a basket, ready to shop.
Walking to the market was always a melancholy experience. It reminded me of the trips I had taken with my grandmother when I was younger. The bright stalls, the buzzing flies, the fresh fruits. I always had such a bright image of it in my head.
I hate that word. Deeply. I don’t like the idea of someone having the right to set the prices of the stuff I like, of the stuff I need.
She went to the market. A basket hooked over her arm and a scarf draped over her shoulders. The people stood idly by while her legs lunged forward in a determined march. A side step around the small child crouching over a frog and a sharp right turn after the tomato merchant. She looked up and there he was. Graceful as ever leaning into an arrangement of fresh blooms.
I miss the farmer’s market. Sure, there is handicapped parking, and sure, I have the wheelchair. But it is not level, making the chair hard to push. And, it is out in the heat, which will take its toll on me. But I miss it, nonetheless. I miss bumping into friends, and chatting with strangers and acquaintances, and I miss finding costly and exciting treasures.
hmm market..i haven’t been to market in so long..in fact i was thinking of going today to buy pots and to spend some money. it’s been quite a while. it’s quite refreshing actually. retail therapy is the best.
markets sell anything usually or everything. markets are everywhere no matter where you are there is a type of market or trading post.
As the boy was wondering what he should get at the market he fell into a ditch on the side of the road when he wasn’t paying attention.
The market business was starting to go down. It started to go down hill after they stopped selling the vanilla ice cream.
only when I buy tomatoes
fresh fruits and vegetables
I am a real adult
but kids like vegetables and fruits too
I had to go to the market one day. I need to pick up sausage and peppers to make a yummy fmaily dinner. Sausage and peppers are a great filling meal and feeds many people. Serve it with bread and a salad and you’ve got a complete meal.
I saw a bob next to a pineapple who was eating carrots who likes Andrea and Linda who hates bob and pineapple. I like cantaloupe and apples, and i love veggies.
“Our go-to-market strategy,” he rumbled. He stared the fresh-faced new recruit in the face, expecting a response. The recruit couldn’t begin to understand what the rumbling iron-sided executive wanted from him, so he sat stunned, attentive, but perplexed.
I went to the market yesterday and I saw a creepy dude named matthew christentien and he was like hey linda what’s up I was like who are who are you creepy dude oh it’s you the creepy dude. Next day I saw him againb and this time he introduced me to his grandma and hiuis
“Do you want to go to the market with me?” she asked. I said no. There, she met the man of her dreams, a farmer who could provide her with endless fresh peaches. To this day, the smell of any kind of produce makes me kind of nauseous.
You took pieces of my soul to the black market, children are highly sought after here. You left me blank and scattered, clearly no one cares. I thought I could just off myself at 10 years old, a fitting end to a tragic beginning, but Mama told me ‘hold on, darling’ as she fell to pieces too.
She dodged and dipped her way around the street, avoiding baskets and bags as she searched for the little fruit stand she knew so well. The sweat and heat were almost unbearable, but the excitement was the most palpable thing she could feel.
The chaos in the market was overwhelming. The calls of the merchants, the loud bargainings of the local ladies all added to its ‘loudness’. In here, it felt easy to escape, to go unnoticed.
There was safety in the crowd.
My mom and I always go to the market. We always shop for vegetables, fruit, meat and snacks. If I had to choose my favorite food. It would be endless. My mom and I always go to the shops. We love shopping.
I went to the market yesterday. There was a strange man there who kept looking at me like I knew him. I stared, and I stared. But I couldn’t recognise him. Eventually, overwhelmed by curiosity, I went up to ask him where I knew him from.
He smiled at me when I asked.
“Don’t you recognise your own Father?”
I woke up.
self sold made in china
the crooked hands curved around mine; a
falacious fallacy, our economy
we demand a philosophy of markets free
then get angry when what wages be
a contradiction definition of incendiary
the political lack of empathy
This word reminds me when L and I went to West Side Market, the day I told her that I wanted to break up with her, which was also the biggest mistake I made in our relationship. We went to the zoo afterwards and that was great.
Saturday at the market place is a perfect way to start the day. Buy some fresh veggies, have a glass of fresh squeezed juice. And don’t forget to wear your prettiest hat!
Come Tuesday, local farmers would gather together to create a small market. My early memories of my hometown, was going to market to buy groceries with mom. Come Today, Market is the financial market and android marketplace.
Today at the Markey i saw a woman. It was te kind of woman that makes you wonder. Where am i? What am i doing? Why is she not in my life? I wonder…
Wicker baskets stacked neatly on one another
Her hands were weaving the threads in and out
making them higher and taller
this was her pride
her work
sometimes its beauty of life with the things we create by hand
lovely and strong the muscles weaved the grass
grey and white shimmering strands of hair mixed in with the black tide of curls
The crowd was massive and the sounds were loud. children, animals, sellers calling out their deals. This is what Tess Mongomery loved, fresh meat, baked breads an sweets. this was her home
in the market i sat down in the aisle, defeated, i looked left, i looked right, and i looked up and down. no matter where i looked i couldn’t find it. desperation, isolation and depression set in. Where were those danmed chocolate bunnies? the same from when i was a small child?
The market teemed with life. Outside, women had lined up their vegetables and other items for sale, on tarps, the vendor sitting behind her wares calling out to people as they passed. These people came from the mountains and their vegetables came from the forest. The more established vendors, who grew their produce in their own gardens or bought the vegetables from their neighbors, had wooden tables set up inside the cavernous building. Birds flew around in the rafters over the heads of people buying their food for the day.
The work market reminds of the difference in its usage in Canada versus in Pakistan. The word isnt used much here as compared to it is in Pakistan. I think it has something to do with the influence of British English in Pakistan and less so here.
I went to the market for zucchini and strawberries, but I wound up with a porcupine instead.
“How in God’s name did you bring home a porcupine?” demanded my wife, as the spiny creature scurried to the corner and hid behind the cardboard box where we kept glass to recycle.
“I’m not quite sure myself,” I replied. “Come to think of it, it didn’t seem like the same market I got to every week. It was on the same street and everything, though.”
The market was closed from the inside, they were trapped with them in there; we didn’t know what to do since we can’t outrun them… We took everything that might serve as weapon and just hope for the best
She walked alone to the store, warm phone in hand. It was quiet uptown, so she was able to listen to her music uninterrupted. She never liked the quiet, putting in her earbuds and playing a song or humming whenever there was no noise. Flowers were drooping through the cracks in the mossy sidewalk, too much rain to keep them happy. She looked around, not seeing the market. Walking faster to the beat of her music, she hurried along the trail. She would have to get there sooner if they were going to have dinner.
The market was a place she knew.
It smelled of home – it smelled of fish, of food, of support.
Her fingers longed to touch various items as she walked by, but instead, she remained a shadow in the shade of the canopies above.
I went to the saturday market with my girlfriend this last weekend. I had been encouraging a friend to play music there. Right when I was going to call him. He was there! He did it! He overcame his fear!
It was around the corner, not far from the house where we lived. Nowadays, no parent would let a child of the age I was go there alone. But in those days, the freedom of childhood stretched farther than two feet or one block or to play dates and carefully selected, pre-screen friendships. We made friends who got us into trouble or who didn’t; the former were quickly dispatched by parents; the latter became the people we got into trouble anyway, but who knew? So far away, around the corner, sitting there in a small space was a market, Freddie’s market, where I went every day to get groceries for the family. I was too small to carry most of the groceries, but there was no one else but me to do it. So I did.